


From the Depths

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: Andalusia au [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Almost Drowning, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crying, Delirium, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Islamic References, M/M, Medieval Medicine, Muslim Aziraphale, Prayer, Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Vomiting, water rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: A short sickfic taking place in the universe of Just Before the Christians Rang their Bells, after the events of the original fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Andalusia au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205270
Kudos: 14





	From the Depths

**Istanbul, 1494**

“Antonio!” Israfil cried. 

He looked down into the murky water, desperately looking for a sign of his lover. He spotted Antonio’s dark hair, and his arms frantically thrashing to keep above the water. Israfil took a deep, panicked breath and dove into the water. He knew how unforgiving the Black Sea could be, he had nearly lost a few crew members himself to the murky depths.  
He had taken Antonio to see a ship being built, and afterwards they had a walk along the edge of the water. One second he was laughing with his beloved, and the next Antonio fell with a scream, having slipped on a patch of moss. 

Israfil tore through the water, knowing every second passing was another second Antonio was in danger. Antonio had stopped screaming, and was just gasping feverishly for air, but he was growing weaker. Israfil reached him just as he began to slip under the waves.  
He clung to Antonio, and held up against his chest. 

“Over here!” someone shouted, and tossed a rope to them. Israfil swam towards the rope, and with one arm grabbed it while the other was clutching Antonio. 

The men on shore reeled them in, and helped Israfil out of the water. 

“May Allah bless you,” Israfil told the men as he laid Antonio out on the ground. 

He slapped the back of Antonio’s back, and his chest heaved, and he began to cough and spit out water. 

“Oh, _Subhanallah_ ,” Israfil breathed in relief, and hugged Antonio. 

“I almost lost you there,” he murmured. 

Antonio’s teeth chattered, and he was shivering. 

“Let’s get you home,” Israfil said quietly, and helped him to feet. 

“I’m fine,” Antonio insisted with a laugh. 

“You’re soaked too, you know.”

But by the next day, Antonio was decidedly _not fine_. When they had gotten home, he and Israfil changed out of their wet clothes, and ate dinner without a problem. They had gone to bed, and fallen asleep cuddling. Everything seemed fine, until Israfil woke up in the morning to Antonio curled in a fetal position beside him.  
Antonio was shivering, and when Israfil felt his forehead, he could tell that he had a fever. A high fever. 

“Antonio,” Israfil whispered anxiously. 

Antonio’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled demurely at Israfil, as if he were dreaming. 

“‘Srafil,” he slurred incoherently.

“Antonio, you’re burning up,” said Israfil. 

“Burning? ‘M not burning, huh, ‘m cold,” Antonio replied weakly, and Israfil realized just how dire Antonio’s situation was. 

“You have a fever,” Israfil tried, and when he looked back at his lover, he saw that he was drifting back to sleep. 

“No no, stay awake,” he begged, and gripped his hand. 

“I need to know what to do.”

“Lemme sleep, my head hurts,” Antonio mumbled.

“I know, I know, but I need to bring down your fever,” Israfil pleaded.

“Lemme sleep, why’re you being so loud?” 

“Antonio, I’m not being loud at all,” Israfil whispered. 

“‘M cold,” Antonio croaked. 

Israfil bit his lip. Perhaps Antonio really did just need sleep, although Israfil knew what could happen to sailors who fell in cold water. 

“Antonio,” he said seriously, “how do I treat a fever?”

“Y’ gotta..m..y’ gotta grind w’llow an’ el’d’b’rry an’ t’m’ric,” Antonio mumbled, as if from memory. 

A fever treatment was likely his most common mixture to sell. 

“How do I-”

But Antonio had fallen back asleep. 

Israfil swallowed. He knew he should let Antonio sleep, sometimes sleep was all one needed, but something horrible in his mind told him it was worse.  
He stood hopelessly in the pantry, and tried to find the ingredients Antonio had mentioned. Antonio still kept a small business of growing and selling herbs, and so their pantry was full of plants drying in the dry, dark room. Israfil grabbed a bunch of turmeric and willow branches, and tore off the leaves. He assumed Antonio intended for him to make tea, and he knew tea was made with leaves. He really regretted not paying more attention to Antonio’s work.  
He ground the elderberries into a juice, and mixed it into the tea brewed from the willow and turmeric leaves. He did know how to make tea. 

When he returned to his and Antonio’s bedroom, Antonio was curled even tighter, and shaking harder. His skin was slick with a sheen of sweat. 

“Antonio,” Israfil whispered, and propped him up with a bunch of cushions. 

He pressed the mug of tea to his lips, and stroked his cheek. 

“Come on, Antonio, please drink this,” he said. 

Antonio opened his mouth slightly, and didn’t protest when Israfil slowly spooned the tea into his mouth. Some of the liquid dribbled down his chin, and Israfil wiped it off. He noticed that Antonio’s clothes were soaked with sweat, which couldn’t be helping his chills.  
When Antonio finished the tea, Israfil slowly began to undress him. Antonio seemed completely out of it, he moved his arms a bit when Antonio pulled off his shirt, but other than that, it was like he was an empty shell. It was getting worse.  
Israfil pulled the blanket over his naked body, and laid next to him. 

“Antonio, please stay with me,” he begged as he stroked his sweat-coated hair. 

For the rest of the day, he kept his vigil by Antonio’s side, only waking him every few hours to spoon feed him some tea and soup. Antonio didn’t seem to be getting better, and by the time Israfil was preparing to pray _Dhurhr_ , he prayed with more intensity than he’d ever prayed before. He raised his eyes heavenward, and silently pleaded for Antonio’s life. 

By nighttime, Israfil was exhausted, and shaking from hardly eating himself. He ate his dinner by Antonio’s bedside, never tearing his eyes away from watching Antonio’s slow breaths. 

“This is my fault,” Israfil said in the silence. 

The next morning, Antonio’s temperature was its highest, and he was raving in his sleep.

“ _Ángel_ ,” Israfil heard him say in his rambling, and Israfil touched his cheek. 

“I’m here, Antonio,” Israfil murmured tearfully, and kissed his clammy forehead. 

Antonio retched, and vomited bile. He began to cry and writhe in pain. 

“Oh, _eini_ ,” Israfil sighed, and gathered him in his arms. 

He cleaned his body with a wet cloth, dipped in water warmed on the hearth. Israfil changed the soiled bed sheets, and tucked Antonio into the freshly made bed. Antonio hardly moved, and Israfil laid beside him and held him. 

“Israfil.”

Israfil hadn’t realized he fell asleep, and awoke to Antonio’s voice. Antonio’s voice was hoarse, but he was awake, and Israfil immediately sat up. He felt Antonio’s face. His skin was still clammy, but not burning like a furnace. 

“Israfil, you’re squeezing me,” Antonio whispered, and Israfil lessened his grip on Antonio’s waist. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly. 

“You’ve been crying,” Antonio said softly, and reached out to touch the edge of Israfil’s red, tearful eyes. 

Israfil kissed his hand. 

“I almost lost you,” he said. 

“And you’re still sick.”

“I’m not-” Antonio began to protest, but began coughing loudly. 

“Okay, maybe I am,” he wheezed, and laid back on his pillow. 

“You were on the edge of death,” Israfil whispered, and then the floodgates broke. 

He began to cry again, and gripped Antonio desperately. 

“Sshh, Israfil, s’alright,” Antonio soothed as he stroked his hair gently. 

“I thought you’d die, and it would be my fault,” Israfil sobbed into Antonio’s bare chest. 

“How would it be your fault?”

“I took you to see the ship, it’s my fault you fell in the water.”

“Israfil, _rohi_ ,” Antonio murmured. 

“You can’t hold the world on your shoulders alone. You can’t blame yourself for everything.”

“I can’t help it,” Israfil replied. 

“Then let me ease the burden, love. You see? I’m alive, you saved me, so many times,” Antonio told him lovingly.

Israfil mustered a small smile. 

“I suppose I did,” he admitted. 

“What did you do?” Antonio asked curiously.

“I, you probably don’t remember, but you gave me instructions to make tea to ease the fever.”

“Tea?” 

“Yeah, with willow and turmeric leaves, and elderberry juice,” Israfil explained. 

Antonio looked down guiltily. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that the leaves were useless, and that he was supposed to use the willow bark and turmeric roots. He supposed it didn’t matter, in the end. 

“Well, it worked,” he said instead. 

He began to cough again, and Israfil patted his chest tenderly. 

“I think you need more sleep,” he said. 

“So do you,” Antonio replied with concern, having noted the dark bags under his lover’s eyes. 

They laid down in their bed, and Antonio pressed against Israfil. 

“No one will know if we sleep some more,” he sighed, and laid his head in the crook of Israfil’s arm. 

He closed his eyes, and soon fell asleep. Israfil followed not long after, lulled to sleep by the sound of his partner’s steady, comforting heartbeat.


End file.
